#the creeping dread has begun to resurface

[grelleswife]

When you remember that there’s less than a week left before the release of Kuroshitsuji Chapter 208.

[sinkovia]

-`♡´- ANON ASK -`♡´-

Anon requested that the ask be posted after the fic.

Pairings: SImon Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst.

As the days passed by, your once perfect relationship with Simon began to fracture. It seemed as though the idyllic days you once shared were slipping away, replaced by a constant tension that hung heavy in the air.

The source of the arguments seems to stem from your "nagging," as Simon puts it. But to you, it's an expression of love and fear - a desperate attempt to hold onto something precious in a world where loss and danger lurk around every corner.

From the beginning, you both understood the risks in your line of work, but it's only recently that the reality of those risks has begun to weigh heavily on your heart.

You've voiced your fears to Simon, your desire to retire together and find solace in a life far removed from the dangers of combat. But each time you broach the subject, Simon's reaction is the same - cold, defensive, and laced with hurtful words that cut deep. It's a cycle that plays out time and time again: he pushes you away with his sharp words, only to come crawling back the next day, remorseful and apologetic.

In those moments of reconciliation, he speaks to you with tenderness and warmth, promising that he's always careful on missions and that this is the life he wants. He reassures you that perhaps, in a few years' time, he could think about settling down. And each time, you find yourself giving in, desperate to believe that his words hold truth.

But as the fear and dread of losing him creep back in, the same arguments resurface, and the cycle repeats itself endlessly, leaving you trapped in a loop of hope and despair. 

The tension in your life reaches a boiling point when you're summoned to the briefing room, where Captain Price lays out the details of a harrowing mission. Your heart sinks as you realize the gravity of the task at hand - infiltrating the heart of Makarov's forces, your fluency in Russian making you the only person who could do it. It's a suicide mission, with slim chances of success and even slimmer chances of survival.

As Captain Price outlines the high-risk, high-reward nature of the operation, your mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, success could mean a significant blow to Makarov's forces, potentially saving countless lives and shifting the tide of the war. On the other hand, the thought of risking your life - and potentially throwing away any chance of a future with Simon - fills you with fear.

You weigh the options carefully, torn between duty and personal desire. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the choice before you feels like a cruel test of loyalty and sacrifice. As you leave the briefing room, the weight of the decision hangs heavy on your shoulders, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you grapple with the choice before you.

You step into your shared apartment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on your shoulders. Simon is seated on the couch, absorbed in the television. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and take a seat next to him, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"We need to talk, Si,"

Simon sighs and reaches to turn off the TV, a resigned expression crossing his features. "Here we go again," he mutters under his breath.

Your heart sinks at his dismissive tone, but you push forward nonetheless. “Price gave me a solo mission,” you watch his reaction closely.

Simon quirks a brow but remains silent, prompting you to continue. “He wants me to infiltrate Makarov's forces,”

“Sounds risky,” Simon comments, his tone neutral as he leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. You take a deep breath, "It's a suicide mission," you confess, locking eyes with him, searching for any sign of understanding or concern.

Silence hangs in the air as you wait for his response, “When do you leave?” he asks, his response devoid of the emotion you had hoped for.

Does he even hear you? Does he even care?

“Did you hear what I said? It’s a suicide mission. Do you even care Simon?” you press, desperation creeping into your voice.

Simon releases a frustrated breath, irritation evident in his demeanor. “Of course, I fucking care, y/n. But like I've said a million times before, we chose this profession. We know the risks that come with our job. Any of our missions could easily turn into a suicide mission.”

Your heart sinks at his callous response, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “And if I died on a mission, would you be okay with that? With living without me? With going on with life without me?!” you challenge, tears welling in your eyes.

“Seeing how you're always fucking nagging me, yeah, maybe I’d be okay with that!” Simon's harsh words cut through you like a knife, leaving you reeling in disbelief.

Your lip quivers, and you shake your head, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. “You're being mean. You don’t mean that Si, I know you don’t,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I do. I mean every fucking word,” Simon retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how easy it would be to find someone else who will give me what I want? I can never get peace when you're around. We are done, y/n. Don't bother coming home after your mission.”

The finality of his words crushes you, leaving you speechless and broken. With tears streaming down your face, you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape. Simon turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, leaving you alone in the wake of his harsh words. 

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room, your mind consumed by the weight of the decision ahead. As you gather the necessities for the mission, a wave of despair washes over you.

If Simon wasn't in your life, what else did you have to live for? There had been multiple missions you had turned down in the past, knowing they were nothing but one-way trips. But now, without Simon by your side, there was nothing holding you back.

Stepping into Price’s office, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead. You inform him of your decision to go through with the mission, his surprise is evident, but he and Laswell offer words of encouragement, instilling in you a sense of hope. With your skills as an infiltrator and your Russian background, they assure you that you stand a fighting chance. After all, who would suspect one of their own?

Despite the uncertainty and the weight of the task ahead, a glimmer of hope begins to flicker within you. Within a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane headed to Russia, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your mind. Simon however remains oblivious to your departure, unaware of the path you've chosen. 

Back at home, he returns that night with your favorite takeout and a bouquet of flowers, his heart heavy with remorse and determination. With each step, he replays his apology in his head, rehearsing the words he's been meaning to say. He knows he's messed up, and he's desperate to make things right. He wants to change, to be a better man for you.

Simon's mind swirls with thoughts of seeking therapy, of learning to control his temper and his sharp tongue. He knows he's hurt you deeply with his words, words he never truly meant. He loves you more than anything, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. But as he steps into the house, the atmosphere is heavy with silence. The air feels cold and unwelcoming.

“Y/n?” He calls out for you, his voice tinged with concern, but there's no response.

Worry gnaws at him as he wanders through the darkened rooms, searching for any sign of you. Finally, he enters the bedroom, and his heart sinks as he sees a note lying on the bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the window. With trembling hands, he picks up the note, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads your words. 

Simon,

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to Russia. I've made the decision to go through with it, despite the risks, and I wanted you to know why.

I've heard your words echoing in my mind, the ones about finding someone else who will give you what you want, about never getting peace when I'm around. And so, I've decided to honor your wishes. Once I finish this mission, I'll find my own place, and you won't have to deal with my constant nagging anymore. Your life will finally be at peace, just as you've always wanted.

I want you to know that I've always turned down these types of missions in the past. This isn't the first time Price has offered them to me. But if I had known sooner that you didn't care whether I went on them or not, I would have gone sooner. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable, for not realizing sooner that I was the problem.

I hope that you find peace now, Simon. I hope that you find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can make you happy. You deserve that much, at least.

Take care of yourself.

Yours always, Y/n

With each word, his heart sinks deeper, the weight of your words bearing down on him with crushing force. Tears blur his vision as he reads your farewell, your words cutting through him like a knife. The realization of the pain he's caused you hits him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air as guilt gnaws at his conscience.

When he reaches the part where you promise to honor his wish and stay out of his life after your mission, Simon's heart shatters into a million pieces. The thought of you willingly walking away from him, all because of his own hurtful words and actions, is almost too much to bear.

He crumples the letter in his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of his mistakes. The weight of regret hangs heavy in the air as he realizes the depth of the love he's lost, the love he may never have the chance to regain if you don’t come back from the mission.

The suicide mission.

In that moment, he breaks down completely, the full weight of his actions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Seeing how much he's hurt you, how much he's pushed you away to point that you accepted the mission, shatters him to his core.

With each tear that falls, Simon's resolve crumbles, replaced by a deep and profound sense of regret. He wishes he could turn back time, take back the hurtful words he's spoken, and hold you close, promising to never let you go. But it's too late now, and all he can do is sit in silence, praying to a higher form to keep you safe, to let you come back to him alive.

The next day, Simon walked into Price’s office, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation. He needed to know more about your mission, to find any shred of information that could ease his growing anxiety.

Price informed Simon that you had landed in Russia in the early morning hours. However, he delivered the news that communication would be sparse for at least a month. They had scheduled calls planned for updates on the mission status, but they would have to wait until the designated time for you to radio in.

Simon listened intently, understanding the protocol, but inside, fear and dread gnawed at him. The thought of you out there, alone and potentially in danger, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

As the first month passed, Simon waited patiently in the room with Price, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. But as the hours stretched on, there was no sign of communication from you. No Morse code, no call, no comm. Just silence.

Panic began to set in as Simon grappled with the uncertainty of your situation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the nagging worry that something had gone terribly wrong. But Price remained steadfast in his confidence, assuring Simon that these things happened often, that perhaps you hadn't found the right opportunity to relay a message.

Despite Price's reassurances, Simon couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him. With each passing day, his fear for your safety only grew stronger, overshadowing any hope he tried to hold onto. But he knew he had to stay strong, to keep faith that you would return safely from your mission.

Month after month passed, and still, there was no word from you. Simon waited patiently by the phone in the comms room center, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. He refused to give up on you, clinging to the hope that you would come back to him, despite Price declaring you M.I.A.

Even as Price tried to reason with him, pointing out that none of your mission objectives had been completed in the time you had been gone, Simon remained steadfast in his belief that you were still out there, somewhere, fighting to return to him.

Even as the years passed Simon couldn't bring himself to accept the possibility that you might truly be gone, vanished from his life and the world forever. The thought of living in a world without you was unbearable, and Simon couldn't bear to entertain it.

The last words he had spoken to you echoed in his mind, haunting him with their cruelty. How could he have been so callous, so blind to the pain he was causing you? 

Was this fate's cruel work, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions? Was this punishment for his harsh words, for pushing you away when he should have pulled you close? Was this what he truly wanted, to be left alone in a world without you?

But even in the depths of his despair, Simon clung to a sliver of hope, refusing to let go of the belief that you would come back to him. He would wait for you, for as long as it took, holding onto the hope that one day, you would return to him and his world would be whole again.

Anon Ask- simon x reader but they are both in the military and reader gets assigned on a suicide mission but has a choice to go or not. reader and simon fight and then they decide to go. feel free not to do this no pressure!!! but if you will dont post the ask until after to make it a little angsty surprise!

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Don't Go (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello!

Double Lizzie!

Um... Once again, brace yourselves. Enjoy! :)

“There’s something you should know.” The feel of Wanda’s hand in your own usually brought you comfort, but the anxiety of revealing your history overpowered the comfort. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to meet her eyes. The beautiful emeralds that had begun to feel like home. You couldn’t lose that. You couldn’t lose her.

You were terrified.

A soft squeeze from Wanda’s hand reassured you. “Okay. What is it?”

Even as the silence stretched into minutes, Wanda didn’t push you as she seemed more than content to move at your pace. You couldn’t have been more grateful for her.

The thoughts in your mind were a blur. You couldn’t even think, let alone try and put your past into words.

Words that wouldn’t end in her leaving at least.

“I want to talk about what happened without mentioning how much it hurt.” Wanda’s brows furrowed in concern at the cryptic nature of your words. “There has to be a way to talk about this without reopening these wounds. To talk about the pain without allowing it back in.” You finished quietly, your gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Y/n, you’re starting to worry me.” Wanda’s words were gentle, but you heard the anxiety that was beginning to creep beneath the surface.

Taking a steadying breath, you turned to face her. You wanted to smack yourself when you saw the worry that you instilled in her. The smile that she easily wore moments before, long gone. “It’s about Leigh.” You finally breathed out.

Wanda’s expression grew curious because Leigh had always been an elusive topic for you. “What about Leigh?”

You began playing with her fingers to distract yourself. “About our past. The long story that I promised I would tell you one day.”

Her brows furrowed at your tone of voice. The blood pounding in your ears made it almost impossible to hear her. “Let’s hear it.”

Dread made your stomach churn as you pushed forward, knowing once the words were out in the open there would be no turning back. “Leigh is my oldest friend… But she was more than that. She always was.” You swallowed past the lump that had formed in your throat, your gaze now locked on your lap. “She was also my first love.” You said simply, knowing it wasn’t enough.

It wasn't enough but it was the beginning of everything.

There was a brief moment of silence, but Wanda’s hand remained steadfast in yours. The fact that she hadn’t tried to pull away yet put your mind at ease. “You dated?”

You drew in a sharp breath, knowing the further you delved into the past the more complicated it got. “Not exactly. I was in love with Leigh since the moment I had known what love was. She was my first love, my first… everything.” You continued somberly. “I was hers too, I think. But we never dated, we did other things but never more. We were always scared of ruining our friendship by turning it into more and by the time I was ready to take the risk, she had already met Matt. I lost my chance to be with her… actually be with her.”

You refused to look up, not sure if you could handle seeing anything but brightness in Wanda’s eyes. “Going through the process of helping her with her wedding destroyed me because I couldn’t help but think that it should have been us. On the day of her wedding…” You took a shaky breath as you recalled the fateful day, feeling tears bubble in your eyes at the thought. The pain came back in waves. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand there and watch her marry someone else without knowing…”

Wanda’s soft fingers gently brushed away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You told her.” She said softly, beginning to piece together the story.

“I did. Sweeping declaration of love. I asked her to choose me. To run away with me... I think you can guess who she chose.” You shut your eyes, still shaking away the feelings that resurfaced when speaking about that night. “I didn’t see her for almost two years after that. Matt… passed away about a year in but I didn’t hear about it because I isolated myself, changed my number and everything. When I found out I felt guilty that I wasn’t there for her, but it took me several months to actually reach out. I didn’t see her until almost a year after he was gone.”

Again, Wanda squeezed your hand in reassurance. “But you reached out again, that’s what matters.”

Nervously you licked your lips. “That’s where it gets complicated.” You could feel Wanda shift slightly. “Because I met you almost immediately after.”

For the first time since you began your confession you looked up. Wanda’s expression was stunned, seemingly overwhelmed by the information. “I know the rest now, right?” The question was hopeful and it made your chest clench even more.

Faintly you shook your head. “I-…” Again, you nervously licked your lips, buying yourself time. “I need you to know everything. You deserve to know everything.”

Wanda nodded slightly. “Go on.”

“Leigh and I slept together shortly after you and I met. That was before the night at your spot and-” Your heart sunk when she pulled her hand back. You quickly folded your hands when you noticed them begin to shake. “Last night Leigh-… She confessed that she loves me and we… kissed.”

When her lips tugged down slightly in a frown your stomach dropped. All you wanted was to see the brightness in her eyes again. “Were you with me because I look like her?” She asked quietly.

The insecurity in her words was heartbreaking.

You recoiled at her question, quickly cupping her face in your hands. “No!” You insisted. “Not at all, Wanda! I fell for you because of who you are.”

There was a vulnerability to her eyes that made your heart ache. “Do you still love her?”

“I-I don’t know, Wanda. But I know how I feel about you.” You tenderly ran your thumb along her cheek. “I lo-”

“Stop.” You heart fell. All you could hope was you hadn’t lost her. “Sorry, I just… I’ll be ready to hear those words when you’re not hurting… When you’re sure you love me and just me… The way I love you.”

The quiet admission made your heart race. “You love me?”

Wanda’s eyes were sad, but she nodded. “I love you.” Tears began building in your eyes because you knew you were entirely at fault for her sadness. For this mess. “Only tell me if and when you’re certain of our love. Of me.”

The heavy silence that followed was unfamiliar and excruciating. Fear seeped into your bones at the thought of losing of her. Of this being your last memory of her.

“Please, don’t leave.” You whispered, feeling your heart fracture at the thought alone.

Her lips turned up in a weak smile. “Oh, Moya lyubov’... I could never.”

Without hesitation, you leaped into her arms. Tears of relief falling down your cheeks when she stayed. “I’m so sorry, Wanda. I never wanted to hurt you.”

The feeling of tears falling onto your skin felt like bullets. Wanda was crying, and it was because of you. All you wanted was to disappear and spare her anymore hurt. You never wanted her to hurt.

“There’s no one else I would rather be hurt by. That’s how I know I love you… because if I didn’t I wouldn’t feel like this.” Her words were quiet, shaky. “There is nothing you can do to lose my love, Y/n. I just hope it’s me and you in the end.”

The tears fell faster from your eyes because you wanted nothing more than to reassure her, to tell her that you loved her too, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love Leigh either. “Can we just pretend that this doesn’t exist for tonight? That it’s just us?” You lifted your head to meet her eyes. “Please.”

Wanda pulled away from the embrace and gently caressed your jaw. “For tonight it’s just us.” She responded, drawing you closer as she connected your lips. The rest of the world fell away when she kissed you like this. All you knew was Wanda.

The next morning you awoke to the cold air against your skin and an empty bed. Through bleary eyes you saw Wanda hurriedly getting dressed. “Are you sneaking out?” You joked groggily.

Wanda looked over at you with wide eyes, obviously surprised to see you awake. “Did I wake you?” She asked quietly, kneeling by the side of the bed once she finished putting her boots on.

You shook your head slightly. “No. It was cold.”

Tenderly Wanda stroked your cheek. “I was going to write you a note.” You leaned into her familiar touch. “I have to leave. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Don’t go.” You mumbled. “You just got back last night.”

“I have to.”

You sat up, pulling the sheets up with you. “Why? Why do you have to leave?” Once again, you came to the realization that you never knew why Wanda was always rushing away. “You never tell me why or where you’re going.”

A heavy sigh fell from Wanda’s lips, her eyes troubled. Pained even. “I can’t…” She stood up and turned away from you. “It’ll change everything.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "It'll change what?" Silence. "Wanda?"

A pained expression crossed her features as she began tugging at the sleeves of your sweater anxiously. "I can't..."

“Please.”

For a moment Wanda lingered by the door. “I’ll be back.” You looked away from her, feeling disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Disappointment that she didn’t trust you. Especially after last night. “Moya lyubov’…”

Your gaze stayed locked on the sheets. “What does that mean?”

“My love.” Wanda replied without hesitation.

You lifted your eyes slowly to meet hers, still feeling the disappointment in your chest, but you couldn’t stop the fluttering of your heart at her words. “Hurry back to me.” You quietly murmured.

Wanda’s lips turned up in a weak smile when you repeated the words you’d once told her back to her. She quickly crossed the room, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “As fast as I can.” She whispered against your lips before leaving.

_________________

On tired feet you trudged up the path to your house, dazedly pulling your keys from your pocket. It had been three days since Wanda had left and you were beginning to worry because she hadn’t checked in which she often did.

The situation with Leigh also didn’t help with the anxiety that was running rampant in your mind. You were just grateful that she was giving you space. Though you couldn’t help but worry about how she was doing just the same.

The only reprieve from the madness in your mind was work. That was over now which meant more sleepless nights as you desperately attempted to unpack the emotions embedded deeply within your heart.

“Y/n.” The sound of her voice made you rub at your temples, the feeling of confusion coming back in full force.

When you finally took in the sight of Leigh standing at your doorstep, your heart thudded heavily against your chest. Beautiful as ever.

Heartbreakingly beautiful.

There were bags under her eyes which concerned you, but the tentative smile on her face eased your mind. You didn’t want to be the source of her pain either. “Leigh, hey.” Your gaze fell to the jacket she was wearing. “That- That’s my jacket.” You mumbled, pointing vaguely to the item in question.

Her lips pressed together in an amused smile. “Yeah. It is. I found it this weekend when I was cleaning out my closet.” She shrugged slightly. “You can have it back, I just thought it was comfortable.”

You waved a hand dismissively, tiredly. “S’okay. You can keep it. It looks better on you.” You said through a yawn, your fingers fiddling with your keys.

“I know this doesn’t change anything, but I got you something. Well, two things technically.” Leigh rambled. Seeing her so flustered was foreign, but entertaining.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help the way your lips quirked up slightly in amusement. “You’re rambling.”

“Right.” She held out a drink container that you hadn’t noticed until that moment. “I know you order green tea when you’re having a good day and herbal tea when you’re having a bad one… I didn’t know how you’d be feeling so I got both.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly and your heart fluttered in your chest. “How did you know that?”

Leigh tucked her lower lip into her teeth for a moment before replying. “I notice everything about you. Even if I act like I don’t.” Her lips quirked up halfheartedly. “Like I know you only started doing this when you spent that one semester abroad and became infuriatingly obnoxious about the quality of tea.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, nodding slightly in agreement. Feeling lighter without even realizing it. “Being abroad did turn me into a bit of a snob.” You took the herbal tea and Leigh’s smile faltered slightly. “Do you want to come inside?”

When she nodded you turned to unlock the door, holding it open for her before stepping in yourself.

Even though you weren’t looking at her, you could feel Leigh’s eyes analyzing you. When you turned to face her, you noticed her smile had faded. “Are you okay?” She asked seriously. You stared back at her, your eyebrows raised slightly. “What?”

“I just- I’m used to being the one asking you that.” You replied honestly. Leigh’s gaze fell to the floor.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips. She looked hurt. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” You shrugged. A tense silence hung in the air. She nodded slightly, her eyes glazed over. “I'm really not a good person anymore.”

You stepped forward in concern, your hand on her arm. “Leigh, it’s fine.” She shook her head. “You’re going through a lot right now. I understand.”

Leigh stepped back slightly. “That’s not an excuse. Stop letting me get away with hurting you, Y/n.” You worriedly watched as her eyes began to glisten. "God, I don't even recognize myself anymore.”

The surprise of her outburst left you dumbfounded, it was like everything over the past few months rushed to the surface for her in that moment. “Where is this coming from?”

“Because I just realized that I’ve been so self-absorbed that the people I love are shocked when I ask how they are! I just hurt them… I just hurt you.” A pained look over came her features as she laughed, though nothing about the sound contained joy. “I want to fight everyone who has ever hurt you, but it was me, wasn’t it? It was me all the time.”

You opened your mouth to speak but she continued on. “I'm sorry that I hurt you.” She rubbed a hand down her face, a quiet groan falling from her lips. “And I did it again. Made this about me.”

“Leigh-”

Her gaze fell to the floor for a moment before lifting to meet with yours once more. “Are you okay?” You hesitated slightly, eyes still worried. Leigh quickly took note of the action. “Don’t worry about me. I'm genuinely asking, Y/n. You look… tired.”

Searching her eyes, all you saw was genuine concern. You sighed. “I’m fine.” Leigh gave you an unimpressed look, so you continued. “I mean, yeah, I’m tired. I’m worried about my clients. I’m worried about you. About-… about Wanda. It’s a lot. But I’m fine.”

Leigh flinched slightly at the mention of her twin but didn’t comment further. The action surprised you. “I know I may not be the ideal person to discuss this with but… You can talk to me.” You shifted uncomfortably. “We all know you’ve been there for me. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

Your heart clenched because this. This Leigh is the one you remember. You almost wished she would be cold again to you just so it’d be easier. You couldn't lose her. You didn't think you could manage a second time. “I appreciate that, Leigh, but I think this is something I have to figure out for myself.”

In response she nodded faintly as silence settled in the air for a moment. You fiddled nervously with the drink still in your hand. “I know this isn’t the best time, but I’m worried there might not be another time.” She paused slightly. “Can I say something?”

“Leigh-” You began, feeling the weight push down even further on your shoulders as you anticipated her next words.

“Please.” She looked at you with pleading eyes and you nodded in resignation. Leigh took a deep breath. “I… I spent so much time pushing you away that I didn’t realize one day I might succeed. That one day I might push you right into the arms of someone else.”

The sincerity of the words made you slump your shoulders. “Leigh.” You began again.

She shook her head, her hands clenching at her sides as she pushed on. “I know my timing is terrible and selfish, but I selfishly want you. All of you. I’m done running. I'm sorry that it took losing you for me to realize that, but I'll never deny it again just... Don't go.”

Tears built up in her eyes, but she sent a weak smile your way. Your heart broke at the sight. All you wanted to do was take her in your arms and reassure her of your feelings but the raging war in your mind rendered you immobile as you helplessly watched the tears begin to stream steadily down her cheeks.

“I can’t- I can’t promise it’ll be easy because that wouldn’t be honest. And I can’t promise I’ll be perfect and not push you away at times but damn it, I’m going to love you as hard as I can for as long as I can... If you let me, I won’t let you go again.”

Your heart thrummed heavily against your ribcage. The vulnerability in her eyes broke your heart.

In that moment you realized that it didn’t matter what decision you came to in the end because you’d be breaking the heart of someone you loved and breaking your own in the process.

Part 6!

So... there's going to have to be 7 parts now. I feel like the more I write the more I confuse myself on what final path this story will be taking lol. And you all make such valid arguments for both sides!

Alright, final Team Leigh vs. Team Wanda, go!

P.S. I hope you all enjoyed! I'm excited to read the comments. As always, thoughts and comments always welcome. :)

Tag list:

@khiaraaa-in-spacee // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @halobaby // @madamevirgo // @aimezvousbrahms // @trikruismybitch // @marvels-writings // @izalesbean // @imdreamingblo //@i-choose-you-cyndaquil // @helloalycia // @scarlets-maximoff // @cantcontroltheirfear // @women-am-i-right // @funnysoldier // @myfavoriteficss // @imapotatao // @imagine-reblog // @blackxwidowsxwife // @purplemeetsblue // @cristin-rjd // @ravens-ss // @legaypandaboi

[bastillia]

Rough Landing

Part 2 of First Lesson

Summary: Commander Ren has a few more things to teach you.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.4k

Warnings: cockwarming, overstimulation, threats during intimacy, inappropriate use of the Force, oral sex (ROUGH, m receiving), unsanitary sex location, public(ish) sex, kinda exhibition kink, no aftercare, uhh bit of cumplay

A/N: Whew alright I know it’s been 3 months, but we’re picking up pretty much right where we left off. Thank you all SO much for the love on part 1. And huge thanks to my incredible friends who have supported me, beta read, and helped me conquer my stuck points. I couldn’t have pulled this through without y’all. Enjoy!

***

There was plenty to like about being in space. For one, it was absolutely quiet. 

Perfectly soundless. Unfathomably endless. In a way, the void between the stars had always been your perfect aegis; a blank slate to nurture everything you’d hoped to become. It held power in its silence, and possibility. It was calm, dark, vast-- it was home, for as much or little as you knew about the word. 

If you thought about it, living aboard the roving flagship of the First Order had always given your life more or less a perfect structure. Most of the time, you didn’t even mind the predictability of it. Your days were purposeful and productive. If, sometimes, just a little boring. But, that was okay--you liked the quiet.

And you were never ever taking it for granted again.

“Stop moving.” Kylo Ren’s voice broke through the growing rumble of the hull. It was only the sensation of gloved fingers tightening down into your hip bones that finally alerted you to the fact that you were squirming. Again. You grimaced.

"I'm trying." 

Friction from the gathering atmosphere punched the craft into a sharp rattle, and your heart struck your sternum as the controls lurched underneath your palms. Your fingers cinched down tight, the lack of circulation in your knuckles settling into a dull throb as you continued to wring the contoured grips, as if you could strangle some desperately needed assistance out of them that way.

Fuck.

Breathe.

You could do this, you just had to stay calm--think about home, about the tedium of whatever meeting was probably going on right now. About how all eyes would be on you if you were there, about the dumbstruck look on General Quinn’s face when you presented that fucking perfect dossier you’d compiled on some key New Republic official he’d been trying to track down for months.

Yes, think about that.

Not about the sweat beginning to break out across your skin, the unnerving rattling around you growing louder and louder. Not about what was still sheathed inside your twitching cunt, stretching you, demanding that your body yield to its presence.

Warm echoes of your last orgasm flared up with another clattering vibration of the atmosphere. It felt almost trapped within you, an electric refrain to the adrenaline melody that pounded your veins now. Your floor muscles quivered tight with it, eliciting an approving twitch from within your walls as Ren’s fingers flexed into the bruises on your hips. 

It was incredible, really. How time had begun to feel almost obsolete until now. It had passed abstractly in the quiet serenity of space as you’d sat filled to your limit, feeling nothing but the commander, his breathing, the omnipresent ache of his cock. Your world nothing but an aroused haze-- stirred every so often by a subtle buck of his hips, a kiss to your neck, hot breath in the hollow of your ear whispering don’t move, don’t you fucking move. Good girl. 

Your thoughts snapped back to the present with a vaguely wistful pang as the hull gave another violent shake. 

Atmospheric entry. What was that, week five? Six? Of the TIE pilot training program? It was on the phase-3 test, you were certain. And you’d put credits down that none of the novice pilots had ever experienced the added curriculum of a cock shoved inside of them.

A warning squeeze stilled another involuntary shift of your hips.

You gritted your teeth against your discomfort, instead trying to let the adrenaline form a whetstone to sharpen your senses.

Breathe.

You could do this. You were way beyond just some novice trooper, you were a fucking lieutenant general of the First Order.  And what did you do to earn that rank? You adapted. So, fucking adapt.

A jolt slammed the craft, and your muscles locked up as the head of Ren’s cock speared something tender and abused deep inside you. The ship squirreled under your grip, leaving you paralyzed as the movement of it set off every panic alarm in this new and untested region of your brain. Without missing a beat, two huge, leather-encased palms came up to wrap over your shaking hands, steadying you with remarkable certainty as they coaxed the vessel back under control. 

“Focus, lieutenant." There was almost an amused purr in Ren’s throat, his voice low and close, utterly lacking in any kind of concern. Your pulse gradually came back down, and with it, your fear curled into a flicker of annoyance. If he was going to mock you, he could at least use your proper title.

You know.

The one you’d worked your ass off for.

The drag of fingertips across the bare skin of your upper thighs jolted you. Your body felt hyper-sensitized, like the sudden touch ignited a cascade of fission that couldn’t seem to find equilibrium anywhere. It fractured your brittle composure in two, just as the roaring blaze around the viewport flared again with a powerful tremor that kicked your heart back up in a sudden panic. 

Sweat lined your palms, adrenaline congealing and turning to acid in your veins. You felt your nerve slip.

"Com-commander, s-sir, I--" 

A hum. “Control yourself.”

It was only two words, but each one cut through your rising panic like a blaster shot to the sternum, rattling you to a realization. 

Control. 

That was the test all along. He’d laid it right out in front of you, challenged you to a game with incredibly fucked up stakes, and he was drawing his hand. Taking a seat at a proverbial Sabacc table, stretching out his chest and waiting for you to either bet up, or lose your nerve. The ante was rising, piece by piece as he silently tested the parameters of your breaking point. 

But he wouldn’t find it. Not like this.

Fresh determination fixed your grip around the shaking controls. It was even enough to keep you from reacting this time when a dull pain lanced under your skin, his teeth catching a tender spot where he had marked your neck some time before. He growled. You tucked that card up your sleeve. 

“Decelerate.”

His tone had shifted quieter in a way that made your ears prick, snapping your attention away from the dull ache of your insides. It sort of stunned you, actually, into something of a quiet curiosity. 

His hand reached around you to swipe at a holopad on the console. An altimeter blinked to life, just before the soft heat of his lips returned to your ear.

“Drop to this zone.” He pointed to a region on the display. “Remain there until we get closer." 

Remnants of panic still swam somewhere in your blood, but you managed to draw a careful breath and nod your understanding. Your ante was still on the table, you told yourself. But perhaps he’d decided that challenging you could wait. For now.

Refocusing, you caressed the controls. The ship banked beautifully, intuitively at your will, before lurching a final time as the thrusters hit a stable layer of atmosphere. 

Beneath you, clouds floated in gossamer ribbons over the calm air, as tattered and thankful for its mercy as you felt. Farther down, the dim moonlight breathed monochrome shapes into being, half-swallowed by the murky vapor of shadow between them. Droplets condensed on the viewport as you dropped through the thin cloudbank, skittering shyly outwards and allowing the shapes to solidify into the oppressive grid of a cityscape.

Slowly, you could begin to make out vague details. Industrial sectors, shipyards, scrappy comms towers. The occasional twinkle of speeder headlights creeping between dilapidated buildings, and--

Your gaze snapped back to the holopad on the nav console, a deft swipe of your finger bringing up your coordinates. The planetary code blinked neutrally back at you, but the unmistakable string of numbers harpooned you with a bolt of clarity that had your ribs tightening down around your lungs. A question resurfaced from the bottom of your memory, curling up to slither coldly along the back of your neck. 

“Commander?”

“Hm.”

“Why, um--” You faltered. 

In truth, there was no reason for you to ask. The answer was already swimming around in your gut, acquainting itself with the sour feeling of dread that settled there. Waiting for your brain to analyze it while at the same time sitting in an insidious state of knowing that didn’t need to reach your head at all for you to feel its weight. 

You swallowed, and adjusted your grip. “Why a TIE fighter? Why didn’t we bring the command shuttle?” 

A pause. He reached around you, flicking a switch on the main console, and the Silencer’s headlights shuttered off with a resounding click. “We may need to leave quickly.”

For the first time since leaving the Supremacy, you felt something familiar settle inside of you. Deep and quiet, like the way sound doesn’t travel in space. It was the same, utterly instinctive feeling that took over every time you managed to get yourself in over your head-- when a negotiation turned volatile, when an unforeseen flaw surfaced in a mission strategy mid-execution. Those moments where the fixed parameters of your training ended, and the only thing left to take the pilot’s seat was your own intuition. 

But this time, there was something else there with it. It glowed within the powerful shroud of calm, thrumming quietly, filling you with something potent and restless and--exciting, that you couldn’t quite place.

Real, physical danger was not something you had much direct experience with. The various moral complexities associated with putting others up against it at your command, you had come to know well. But you were here now. Facing it in the flesh, not protected by the reinforced hull and ion cannons of a Star Destroyer. 

You were here, looking down on the dark streets of Corellia, a planet so lawless and foul and flat out fucking dangerous that the First Order had all but given up establishing a presence here long ago. Even the New Republic’s ties here were thin.

A tightness struck through your chest as you very suddenly realized that it was only a matter of time, now, before you were going to have to--

“Drop lower.” The commander shifted to tap something into the nav console. A flight course lit up the holopad, leading to a destination marker just a few klicks ahead. “Land here.”

The sector you entered seemed somehow even darker than the rest as you brought the Silencer down over the shadowed streets, hints of crumbling walls and rusted vents just barely illuminated by the occasional weak street lamp. No headlights, hardly any ground lighting--you were no ace pilot, obviously, and it took your full concentration just to maneuver the ship between the vague silhouettes of broken antenna towers, avoiding them where their spindly shadows jutted up from the rooftops. You jumped when Ren’s hands enveloped yours again.

“Right here.” He guided your hands, expertly swinging the craft around and into a hover above a dim alleyway, empty and lined on both sides with large, abandoned-looking industrial structures. Your pulse jumped. He released your hands, a finger drawing your attention to a switch on your right, then flicking it casually. “Landing gear.” 

The hull rumbled and thumped. An array of green lights flashed to life in what you could only assume was an indication of the ship’s readiness for landing. If only you felt the same. Your hands were frozen on the controls, your mind simultaneously racing and completely blank. You waited dumbly for guidance, heart hammering, shallow little breaths trapping themselves high in your throat. 

“Relax.” Ren’s voice permeated to your bones as both arms slid around your stomach, liquefying your fear into a trembling plea. 

“P-please, Commander, I d-don--” You cut off with a shiver when his lips met your neck, his hips beginning to rock in a slow, enunciated rhythm that had your cunt immediately bearing down with need as you felt him harden. “Fuck, p-please, I don’t know how t--... h-how to--”

Your eyes rolled back as a hand slid down between your legs, the leather pad of his finger finding your clit stiff and sensitive, its touch featherlight. A hum rumbled under your shoulders. “Your intuition, lieutenant. Feel it, don’t think.” 

Maker help you, there were a lot of things you could fucking feel right now. Namely, your commander’s cock slowly massaging your walls, lazy in its rhythm. Your grip on the controls banishing the circulation entirely from your knuckles. His fingers sliding down your slit, spreading as he reached the root of himself, shamelessly feeling the obscene way your body yielded to the thickness at his base. The lust that erupted low in your belly in response. The panic that was rising as you remembered your task, its sharp tendrils threatening to reach your head and overwhelm you. 

Control yourself.

A turbulent breath shook some air back into your lungs as your tiny inner voice of reason managed to surface again. Collecting yourself, you let it expand, pushing each distraction away one by one as it went. Focus, it reminded you. Remember the card up your sleeve, get through this round. 

You tethered your awareness to the ship, to the curve of the controls against your palms, to the way they extended like a continuation of your own neural circuits to command the sleek metal beast encircling you. A steady, downward press of your hands, and it purred its obedient response, settling slowly towards the ground below.

“Good girl,” Ren said. “Just like that.” 

There was something--a tiny flicker of mischief in the shadows of his voice. Maybe you would have caught it quicker, but your tunneled focus left you one fatal step behind him, too slow to anticipate his move. His hand shifted, easily finding your raw clit against his fingertip, and pressed down--hard.

Electric. Everything was electric. Your vision doubled, the shredded remnants of your nerves shorting out and screaming against the paralyzing flood of sensation, ripping a ragged gasp from the bottom of your lungs. Maker, don’t scream, don’t fucking-- 

A shift of his finger and your hips jerked, an involuntary movement of sheer desperation for escape that carried right through your whole body and into the ship.

One wing dipped to the side, and it was only the sharp trill of a proximity alarm that managed to blast through to what was left of your reflexes just in time. A curse cut the air through your lips, your shaking hands grappling the controls into a clumsy counter-correction that swayed the craft wildly as you wrestled it back to center. The rocking slowly stilled, the ringing in your ears no longer from the alarm, but your own pulse bludgeoning your temples. Ren simply chuckled, and released your clit.

“Commander.” A few rapid blinks cleared the blur from your vision, but oxygen was still painful through the panic in your chest, leaving you frustratingly breathless. “With all due respect, sir, do you want me to crash your ship?”

“You won’t.” The smirk was audible in his voice. “Or is my confidence in your aptitude misguided, lieutenant?” 

A slew of unkind words lashed themselves to your tongue, fighting for freedom with the fuel of indignation that scalded your throat like bile, but you swallowed both, smothering your thoughts into silence. Stay calm. Maintain control. You drew a tight breath. “No, sir.”

“Mm. Good.” He rocked his hips firmly up into you, and a pitiful little noise clutched in your throat. “Then land my ship, and perhaps your proficiency will be rewarded.”

Desire shot up your spine like a flare, igniting at the base of your brain and rocketing your thoughts clear past apprehension and ahead to the promise of relief. It was enough to allow bravery to wriggle back into your fingers, your hands finding the wherewithal to resume their task even as your lungs stalled in anticipation of another distraction. 

But none came. 

The relief that flooded you was immediate and powerful the second you felt solid ground settle under the landing gear. The hull groaned around you as the craft came to a full rest, wheezing like a fathier after a hard gallop, and you, its master, just thankful to have survived the race. But there was one more hurdle for you.

“You know this part.” Ren gestured vaguely to the console, still alive with various lights and indicators, many of which, no, you certainly did not know anything about.

Your eyes darted back and forth a few times before it hit you. Of course. The ignition sequence.

Presumably, to shut the fighter down, you would just need to… to do it backwards? That seemed like the logical course of action, at least. Stars, how long ago had you even taken off? The Supremacy already felt like a faint memory, the edges of its shape scattered through a hazed prism, each facet reflecting nothing but incandescent pleasure and the blinding heat of Kylo Ren. 

But you had to remember. This was--you hoped--the final test, and there was no way you were going to fail. Maker, what was wrong with you, you were better than this, just think. The last thing he turned on had been…

Thrusters.

Right console, three switches. Bring all of those down. The roar of the ion engines quieted, taking the vibration of the hull down to a faint rumble. Okay, good, next was--

Ignition. Yes, ignition: off. Much quieter now, and stars, when was the last time you breathed? Fucking breathe. Okay, next. 

Compressor: disengaged. Auxiliary last.

Everything went black as you killed the main power. Your breathing seemed to echo around in the stillness of the cockpit, your cunt twitching to life in acknowledgment of what was now pressing harder than beskar steel against your guts, amplified by the darkness. It was almost as if the power from the ship had never really shut down, but simply transferred into your own body instead, flicking your ignition switch and bringing your arousal roaring back to life with a vengeance.

Every line of the commander’s body against you was lighting up your awareness, filling the sensory void with his presence, the unbearable stillness of him. What had he meant when he said he’d reward you? You’d learned his lesson, yes, and passed every fucked up test he’d thrown at you to prove it. For that, you could commend yourself. 

But if there was one lesson more poignant than the rest, one that now stuck like thermal sludge to every crevice of your understanding, it was that his next move could come at any moment--and not always in a way you could anticipate. 

This seemed like one of those moments.

A shift of his chest under your shoulders made you jump, one arm reaching up somewhere you couldn’t see to flick a control, and the hatch cracked open with a hiss. The night air flooded the cockpit, all but drowning your racing thoughts as it drew in like a cool sigh to kiss the heat in your cheeks. Your head fell back, lungs gratefully accepting the damp and oddly foreign relief of atmospheric oxygen, even as the scent of it stuck in your mouth. It was thick, leaden with rain and crude fuel, but you hardly cared. It felt divine.

Beneath you, an impatient grunt and a single squeeze to your thighs brought you back to the present with a tiny flicker of alarm. 

“Out.” 

Your muscles froze. 

“But, I--” Whatever you might have expected out of this moment, that was possibly the last thing you could have prepared for, and your brain was fumbling spectacularly in an attempt to process the one word. 

Did he actually mean that? Was this another test? You didn’t even feel like you could move right now, let alone clamber out of the ship with your whole body aching and clenching as it was. And you were so full, and he was so hard, and now you were nearly trembling with need and--

And you took too long to act. 

Wide hands locked around your waist, and then everything shifted--he was picking you up. Holy shit he was strong, he hoisted you upwards in one effortless motion, throwing your world into a blur. The only thing you distinctly registered through your disorientation was the feeling of his hard cock pulling along your tired walls, finally popping free for you to flutter and clench around nothing for a moment before your bare ass came down on the lip of the cockpit. 

Cold metal bit your flesh, a harsh and unforgiving contrast to the warm lap you’d grown accustomed to. Fuck, everything was dark. But hearing him shift underneath you had you hurriedly swinging your legs around to jump down.

And... the ground was a lot farther down than you thought. 

You landed hard. Hard enough for your knees to buckle, and you stumbled against the hobble around your thighs in a clumsy attempt to keep yourself upright. But before you could lose your balance you were moving again, being yanked by the arm and slammed back hard against the ship.

A huge, black mass crowded in on you, looming and pressing you back against creaking durasteel, the metal still warm under your shoulders as the ship settled from flight. Your heart slammed against the commander’s advance, eyes darting through shadow. 

In the span of a shared breath, his mouth crashed down on yours, open and wanting and hungry in the darkness, and everything inside of you detonated.

The heat of his mouth was dizzying. You mewled into it, the feeling of him so strong and warm and everywhere, tugging at your hips, tongue sliding past your teeth. Your hands gravitated upwards for any leverage they could find just to pull him closer, to taste him deeper. A low, rumbling sound scraped the bottom of his chest and two huge hands encircled your wandering wrists, easily plucking them off of their feverish course and slamming them up beside your shoulders instead. 

His exploration of your mouth grew brazen as he pinned you open, crushing you against unyielding steel, even taking a moment to suck at your bottom lip before his hot tongue was licking deep into you again, stealing your breath and coaxing soft sounds from your chest in its wake. 

An immobilizing sensation locked your arms in place, keeping them tight against the ship even as his touch slid along your arms and around to the front of your torso. The extra sensations hardly even registered through the feeling of his mouth on yours until you realized you still couldn’t move while he was cupping your face with one hand, the other leather-encased palm flattening over the confines of your uniform, squeezing at the soft swell of your breasts hidden beneath. 

A low growl into your mouth, a shift of pressure up your sternum, and then his fingers found and curled over your pressed collar. With one purposeful tug, the material popped open, and you gasped.

"Commander," you broke the kiss, your head spinning as his breath immediately blazed against your neck instead. His movements were impatient, uncharacteristically clumsy in their urgency as you felt the material of your top continue to separate all the way down to your cleavage. “Commander, w-we--”

Fuck, it was impossible to think, everything in your brain felt thick with a vibrating fog. You could feel tiny points of rational thought trying to take form, trying to remind you of where you were, of why this was risky. But they were like infant stars peeking through a hungry nebula, unable to solidify before being swallowed again. 

"Fuck, w--” His tongue slowly rode the curve of your jaw, and stars, what were you even going to say? “W-we sho-shouldn’t-" 

“Shouldn’t what?” he purred, smooth fingertips trailing slowly down the bare plane of your sternum and sliding under the open edge of your coat.

A soft whine was all you could muster, broken thoughts dissolving on your tongue the moment he cupped the curve of your breast and scooped it free of your neckline, pushing the fabric aside to let your nipple peak up against the open air. 

The empty street was quiet enough that your breaths seemed to ricochet as they tripped softly over each other, sliding along the walls of the alley and joining the soft buzz of a flickering street lamp farther down. Stars, anyone could be listening-- watching, for all you knew. In a city like this, it was impossible to anticipate the stakes. Rife with the sorts of creatures who took refuge in shadow, even the darkness seemed to betray you, leaving every inch of exposed skin glowing as if the dim moonlight had suddenly adopted all the strength of a Tatooine sun. 

Your heart raced. You scrambled to clutch at the caution left within yourself, for any remaining instinct that would tell you that this was wrong, that you shouldn’t be going along with this. 

But you found no purchase. Your inhibitions were dissolving through your fingers-- dwarfed in Kylo Ren’s shadow, smothered under his hands, the power of his presence atomizing any need for your guarded reluctance and casting it into obsolescence. 

And as you surrendered, suddenly every eye that might be watching, every ear that could be tuned to your pleasure just around a shadowed corner, was like a hit of fucking spice. The thrill of it arched your back, coaxed bolder sounds from your chest that bounced daringly off of the bullet-scuffed duracrete to fade into the darkness of the alley.

Ren gave voice to it first, a growl breaking through the roar between your ears. 

“You’re enjoying this, lieutenant.” A swift yank of your undershirt revealed both of your tits to the damp air, and the chill of it settled wonderfully on the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered under your stiff uniform. The sigh that melted through your lips was as much confirmation as you could provide him. 

“Filthy thing.” His voice was a darkened hiss as he roughly took both of your breasts in his hands. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Right here in the fucking street.” 

There was no doubt that he could sense the pleasure soaking your thoughts with every passing second, the heat coiling up through your body, breaking you into soft trembles against the solid seams of durasteel.

Stars, this was wrong. 

But there was something about it--about being pinned up, shameless, tits bared and groped in the middle of a dirty Corellian backstreet like some cheap outer rim whore, that had you feeling freer and fucking hotter than you ever had in your life.

Yes.

He could do anything. Take anything. And right now, you’d fucking give it to him. 

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, head nodding in desperate submission as your fingers wiggled against their invisible bonds. It was like your body was coming alive for the first time, finally catalyzed to its transition state, now burning and shifting and begging silently for him not to fucking stop touching you. 

“I want to know, little whore--” His hand spread over your bare collarbones, the wide junction of a thumb and forefinger pressing the base of your windpipe. A gasping little moan left you as his lips brushed your jugular, heat striking up through your belly and all the way into your neck when his other hand urged your thighs apart to tease your slit. "I want to know just how far you can take me down this pretty throat."

Everything in you shuddered, and your unrelenting bonds were probably all that held you up against the sudden lack of support that your knees offered. Kylo Ren pressed the tip of one thick finger inside you, barely curling at your soaked entrance. 

“Do you think you can swallow my cock, lieutenant?”

“Fuck. Yes, yes sir, please.” The breathless response left you before you even registered what you were saying, so thick was the need enshrouding your brain. It muddled your hearing, put everything else on a sensory delay to the pulsing heat that slid down and coiled up in your core.

And that’s why you almost didn’t catch the gritted command before the strong presence of his body suddenly drew away from you, leaving your head spinning. 

“Get on your knees.”

The Force evaporated from around your forearms. The loss of physical support nearly made you buckle, your body sagging against the fighter and leaving you to clutch at a ridge of metal for balance. You’d heard him, vaguely, but your brain still felt spectacularly slow. You were having trouble remembering which way was up, blinking against the low light, and the small hesitation was enough. 

In a flash of movement, his saber cleared the clip on his belt, cracking the air in two as it ignited in his hand and leveled to heat your neck. 

"Now.”

For a second, everything was extraordinarily still. Your lungs, your mind, even the faint drizzle of mist seemed to suspend in the air, vaporize around the searing plasma, and equilibrate into a deathly quiet.

The red aura vibrated in your immediate periphery, engulfing your retinas and casting everything around it in near-total blackness, unwavering in its proximity as the cold street pressed your knees. 

A very marked shift took place in the state of your awareness as you knelt, waiting-- feeling. Everything was hazy and warm before, but now. Oh, now, everything was hot, and sharp. 

The snap of plasma echoing through the empty street sounded somehow both hushed and magnified. The gravelly bite of duracrete into your knees was both painful and electrifying. And all you could do was sit here and accept the way Kylo Ren drank you in, just hold absolutely still and let the tip of the saber rotate to your front, the light of it illuminating your bare chest.

And, fuck. Oh, fucking Maker-- 

You were wet. 

Every beat of your heart was an enunciated hit to your core, giving your arousal a wicked edge that cut into every last molecule of your body. Your cunt ached more with every pulse, and yet Ren just held there, his breaths shaking the damp air between you as he gazed at your naked tits under the light of a weapon that could kill you in half an instant.

You were possessed, the danger and thrill of it flooding your skin with intoxicating fire, and in a moment of what might have been either immense bravery or unfathomable stupidity, your hand began to move. 

Very, very slowly, it pulled along your belly, fingers twitching to splay downwards. The saber heated your knuckles, following as you guided it all the way to the apex of your thighs, where you paused. And then you sat back on your heels, spread your knees as far as they would go, and curled your hips forward, letting the crimson light gleam off of the wet shine of your cunt. 

“Fuck,” Ren rasped from the shadows, something delirious and urgent unearthing itself from the gravel of his voice. Somewhere beyond the snapping hum of the blade, you heard the slick sound of leather moving over flesh. “Fuck- touch yourself. Sh-show me--”

But you were already moving. Your fingers slid into the wet heat of your folds, tender with arousal, the flesh plumped up from abuse. You dragged your slick all over yourself, spreading for him, pulling up to circle your neglected clit and letting out a soft sigh at the relief that saturated you in a deluge. 

The cool air did little now to temper the exquisite heat that flooded your body as you pleasured yourself openly for him, whimpering when you felt a familiar swell prime itself deep within you. It brightened with every practiced curl of your fingers, blooming outwards to rival the lightsaber that illuminated you steadily, and it wasn’t long before your thighs began to clench, your hips rocking against the movement of your hand while heady gasps punched your chest, that luminous heat coming closer and closer to a blinding apex.

You began to flutter, tightening with closeness, but the blade shot up under your chin, freezing you in the one movement. 

“Don’t cum.” 

Your heart slammed in your throat, every muscle locking into place where it was. You could feel errant sparks biting your skin, daring you not to move or speak.

And then darkness swallowed you, a hiss of steam resounding as the saber abruptly disengaged. The lingering imprint of it marred your sight, and you gasped when the whirl of movement in front of you turned into a large hand snaking into your hair, hips crowding your face, and the warm, solid length of Kylo Ren’s cock pressing against your cheek. 

You whined, stiff muscles liquefying as you turned your mouth towards it, moisture already welling under your tongue. But his fingers tightened at your scalp, stopping you.

“See what you do to me, little thing?” 

His other hand gripped around his base, letting the weight of his cock thump against your cheek once, twice. Fuck, he was so hard, and if you thought he was big before, it was even more obvious now that he was pressed right up against your face, so close to the soft heat of your mouth.

You nodded and whimpered, letting your cheek brush against his erection, still damp with your own slick. He rocked his hips forward, and the sheer breadth of his stature dwarfed you as he pressed in closer, until your face tilted and your jaw rested up against the hard plane of his adonis belt. Heat seeped into your cheekbone, radiating from the saber hilt strapped deftly back to his hip, like a warm sun to the earth and smoke of his body. 

An absolutely crippling wave of desperation crashed through you then, pulling an audaciously loud moan up tight through your chest that morphed into a pitifully sobbed out, “Please.” 

The hand in your hair gave a firm tug until you were looking straight up his torso, the glint of his eyes just visible to your adjusting sight. He held you there, his strength commanding, voice slipping like dark matter through his vocal cords when he spoke. 

“Are you going to let this whole filthy fucking city hear what a little whore you are?” He rocked your head back and forth by your hair, turning your neck muscles to liquid. “Begging for my cock?” 

You bit your lip, too far gone to deny or assent. Perhaps caution would still be the smart thing, but stars--you didn’t fucking care any more. You’d let every wretched street rat on Corellia hear you beg for him, if it came down to it right now. 

Not trusting yourself to answer verbally, you simply let your mouth fall open so that your wet tongue could drag over the tiny slip of exposed skin above his groin, never once taking your eyes off of his shadowed face. Your reward was a thick groan and a twitch of his cock by your cheek, shooting a hot spasm into your core. Ren huffed out a tense breath. 

“Keep that fucking mouth open.”

He drew back and pumped himself, long and slow right in front of your obediently waiting tongue, black glove squeezing almost too roughly along his shaft until a thick bead of pre cum wept from his slit. Your brow pinched upwards as saliva pooled behind your bottom lip, threatening to drip down onto the duracrete, seep into a blaster hole and add to the memory that this roughened street would keep of you, so soft and wanting, incongruous next to its grit.

Ren stepped forward, obliterating your thoughts as finally, finally, he rested his thick head on your tongue, removing his own hand and letting you test the full weight of him in your mouth. Your moan was almost a sob when you closed your lips and dragged your tongue across his frenulum, letting him feel you, swirling the pre cum from his tip before sliding him deeper into the hot depths of your mouth. 

“Fuck, good girl,” he hissed, resting both hands in your hair, but not controlling. You took him another inch, tongue working to lubricate your path, satisfaction unfurling when his chest heaved at the feeling. The taste of him shot a primal fire through you, equal parts sharp and masculine, the remnants of your own cum leaving a tang on your taste buds. 

Arousal careened through your belly, and you couldn’t help but dip your hand between your thighs, fingers finding your clit stiff and sensitive as your tongue passed over a thick vein.

But he caught your movement, and your hands were immediately wrenched upwards by an invisible strength, both wrists flying up and into the waiting grip of Ren’s palms. You squeaked.

“Impudent thing,” he growled, and wrapped your smaller hands around the base of his cock, securing your grip with a warning squeeze before carding his fingers into your hair again. “Keep them there.” 

You gave a tiny nod and a shallow whimper, briefly mourning for your aching clit yet almost instantly distracted again by a twitch of his shaft on your tongue. Relaxing your jaw, you took him further, letting him begin to feel the tight silk of your throat.

“Fuck--” every muscle in Ren’s body seemed to go rigid enough to rival the durasteel frame of his ship, and his fingers clenched tighter into your hair. “Yes, take it--” he hissed as you slipped back an inch and enveloped him again, relaxing to take him deeper.

You found a steady rhythm like this, gradually acclimating to the feeling of intrusion. It became a little easier with each appreciative sound you drew from the commander, arousal permeating your body’s natural defenses and slackening them, even as your throat began to protest the moment you got about halfway down his cock.

But as hard as you tried to ignore the sensation of breathlessness, your lungs still screamed for air. You got maybe eight or nine good strokes in before your lips drew off of him with an obscene pop, slick hands taking over to work his length while you gasped a few starved breaths. 

It would have been easy to stay like this, jaw slack, lips plump and wet, simply marveling at the hard and beautifully flushed appendage in your palms. But then a finger tapped twice under your chin, breaking your daze with a wordless command that struck an immediate response--your eyes flicked up. 

“Are you determined to test my doubts in your capabilities, lieutenant?” He laid a flat palm under your jaw and ran his thumb over your blushed lips, leather slipping lewdly over saliva. “Or must I teach you everything?”

Your heart struck your pelvic floor, dread and excitement charging up like a shot from a plasma cannon. “N-no. I--” Heat surged into your face. “I me-mean, I, uh--” Fuck, it was stupid to think you were somehow out of hot water. He expected more. Always, always, expected more, and now you were going to have to play your cards carefully. You swallowed against the thundering of your pulse. “I c-can take it, Commander, ple-please--”

“Can you?” He wiggled your jaw slightly in his palm, face tilting until a sliver of moonlight slanted across it like a translucent scar. You tensed, resisting the urge to shrink. “Or should I have selected someone more adequate?”

The plasma charge inside you flared, fusing atoms of dread into something deadlier with the affront. Your teeth gnashed, tension breaking your body into trembles under the strain of caution. “N-no, sir.” A muscle in his face twitched. “Please, I was... I w-was just--”

“Perhaps I should return you to General Quinn,” he said. “I’m sure he would be more than accepting of such inferior talents--”

You lunged, and in a single, smooth stroke, you swallowed his cock straight to the base, your body heaving its protest with a soundless convulsion.

A noise strangled in Ren’s throat, and a firm hand slid around the nape of your neck to hold you there, gagging and completely stripped of any capacity for breath. 

It probably would have been too much for you to handle, were it not for the hot sparks of indignation that quickly soldered each fissure in your resolve. Each one forced you to soften, to accept the agonizing incursion, if nothing else just to prove that you could. 

Relax.

Tears welled as you glanced up, funneling all of your willpower into sacrificing your need for breath. Movement was impossible with him holding you there, but the huge hand on the back of your neck spasmed, and your opportunity struck.

Doe-eyed, you gazed up and swallowed, letting your pharynx flex and ripple around the thick head of him just as hot tears spilled over to soak your cheeks, and one hand curled around to cup him by the balls.

You could almost hear something in him snap with the choked roar he let out, and it made your chest swell even as both of his hands coiled roughly into your hair and locked your head back. You met his stare, fire in your own, and gave him a challenging squeeze. In less than a second, your hands were no longer your own, seized by the Force and shackled down to your thighs, just before his hips drew back and oxygen smacked your lungs with a less than pretty sound. 

He gave you no time to recover before his cock was gagging you again, his rhythm punctuated and slow, each thrust forcing submission from your body. Gravel shifted under your knees as you trembled with all of the muscular tension that you redirected away from your jaw, the coarse pain of it serving as a welcome diversion from the intense sensation of having your throat fucked.

Relax. Control yourself.

Wetness began to streak your face, tears and saliva converging on your chin, and the vague thought shimmered in the back of your mind as to what you must look like right now: a slutty mess completely at your commander’s mercy, drawing choked breaths only when he allowed it, tongue fluttering soft and wet under his thick shaft while your clit fucking throbbed between your legs. But from the broken sound that Ren let out as he watched another violent gag roll through you, you’d have thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed. 

His grunt bottomed out into a snarl as one hand slid out of your hair, his palm turning outwards while two of his fingers began to curl in a salacious motion.

The fluid sensation of the Force coiled and rippled across your clit at his command, its motions just like your own fingers but even better, making your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Ren gave a knowing hum as your moan was choked down into your throat by another thrust of his cock, and a bend of his fingers sent a toe-curling rumble over your swollen bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it, lieutenant.”

The sound of his voice slid down your body, settling low in your belly where your orgasm was starting to simmer again. Even the ache in your jaw began to meld into your pleasure, making your head swim and buzz with the renewed promise of climax.

Ren’s breathing started to crack and falter, coming in half-formed curses through his ribs as he continued to steadily fuck your mouth, and it was clear that he must have been leaning on the edge of closeness for some time as well. You could feel it in the way his cock pulsed on your tongue, the way his stomach began to tense and flex.

Fuck, the thought of it--Kylo Ren, this grand enigma steeped in poise and brutality, a man who could obliterate life with a flex of his hand, was about to pull you apart by the threads, shatter you into pleasure with that same power and cum down your fucking throat. 

The wave of arousal that slammed you was almost maddening, and it was all you could do to flatten your tongue over your teeth and swallow thickly around his cock once more before everything was coiling up tight and fast inside you. 

His voice shot you to the precipice with a gritted out, “Fucking whore, let me f-feel you cum--”

There was a moment before it hit, like the way a seismic charge pulls in all of the sound around it into a single devastating point, and then with a choked sob you shattered, pulses of ecstasy ripping through your body while your cunt spasmed and wept its bliss onto the street with each unrelenting surge of the Force at your clit, wringing convulsions from you until you began to shake from the intensity of your orgasm.

You blinked the fresh tears from your eyes just in time to see Ren snarl above you, jaw tight and hips stuttering as the tension in his body threatened to snap, echoing in a rough pull of your hair. Pain seared your scalp as he pulled you off of his cock just in time for the first jets of his release to coat your tongue.

He groaned, a harsh sound that rivaled your surroundings in its sheer impurity, and he wrenched your head back further, working his length while thick ropes hit your open, gasping mouth, splattering your lips and chin with his bitter taste. He was grunting, swearing, panting through clenched teeth, and then--

Your name. Not your title, not a mocking belittlement of your rank, but your name, cracked through his lips, a desperate sound half-buried in the delirious stream of filth.

Before you could even process what you just heard, he sharply released your hair and stepped back, your invisible restraints dissipating and leaving you to crumple over on yourself, gasping and trembling and painted in cum. 

Slowly, through the ring of pleasure and shock in your ears, you rubbed your sore jaw, before using your fingers to gather the warm mess around your lips. But just when you were about to slip them into your mouth, his voice stopped you, a graveled whisper from the shadows.

“Look at me.”

Breathless, you looked up, suddenly conscious of how plump and stained your face felt as the cool air began to dry the tears on your cheeks. Ren had already adjusted himself to decency, but your walls still fluttered with aftershocks of pleasure at the sight of his huge stature, swelling with deep breaths like a sated, black tide under the moon. You gazed at him in the dim light, holding his stare while you dipped your slippery fingers into your mouth and dutifully sucked the cum off of them, admittedly letting your tongue lick out along your knuckles just a little more than you probably needed to. 

Ren’s nostrils flared, and he took a few strides in your direction. When his hand came out towards your face you flinched, but he simply curled his fingers under your chin and slowly passed his thumb over a spot on your cheek that you had missed, expressionless as he pushed it through your parted lips. He watched you like this for the smallest moment before he drew away again.

Your mind felt blank; wiped and recalibrated by the staggering intensity of whatever your life had become over the past few hours. Exhaustion settled on you with the weight of a freighter. The one thing still tethering you to reality was the sensation of oxygen drawing in and out of your lungs, sweeter now than it had ever felt in your life despite the taste of grease and rust in the air. 

Stiffly, you began to readjust your clothing, pulling your undershirt and coat back over your breasts before beginning the painful process of climbing to your feet. As shaky and sore as they were, your legs somehow supported you, and you managed to wrestle your pants back up over the curve of your ass, only fumbling a little to secure them around your waist. 

For some reason it was only after you were covered again that you even thought to look around the alley, a brief pang of fear seizing your ribs, but it was just as still as when you’d landed. Just as empty, just as quiet. Maybe even moreso.

You glanced back around to Ren where he stood by the connecting beam of the ship’s wing, still and ruminative, a sleek device raised in his hand. After a moment, he pressed a button and spoke into it.

"Report."

A crackle of static peeled through.

“Have eyes, dropping in,” you could faintly hear the voice on the other end say, and a spear of alarm jabbed you back to sudden alertness. Ren's eyes flicked to you, his face stone. 

“Clear to land,” the commander returned through the commlink, before tucking it back into his pocket. 

Your heart pumped uneasily against your ribs, your face surely a canvas of confusion. Ren cast you a blank look before grabbing a metal ridge on the ship and smoothly disappearing into the cockpit again. 

Okay, this was getting unnerving. But the whine of an engine snapped your attention to the sky, where a standard-issue TIE fighter was descending with predatory swiftness upon the alley, its headlights killed, swooping into a hover just behind Ren’s Silencer. Half-shielded by the wing already, you recoiled instinctively into the shadow of it, as if you could find safety in the way it jutted forward like a protective talon.

You jumped when heavy boots hit the ground next to you again, looking up to see a masked Kylo Ren. He watched the other fighter land, standing silently as its cockpit popped open with a whisper of hydraulics. A shadowed figure leapt out, and you took a few steps backwards as it strode in your direction, vaulting the wing-support beam of the Silencer in a smooth motion before coming to a halt in front of the commander.

“Ren,” a dusky voice rasped through the tinny filter of a vocoder. He was masked as well, similar yet altogether different from the commander he addressed; rougher-looking, shrouded in strange black armor. As you stared, his head quirked, the mask tilting to settle on you. “Who’s this?”

[h-styles-babes]

FIFTEEN

Sia had to nearly drag herself out of bed the next morning.

After being woken by Harry and inviting him to stay with her to abate the nightmares, they’d stayed up for about an hour, talking about nothing and everything. Sia asked him about hw filming had gone and how he’d liked making his first movie. Harry had been enthusiastic about his experience, but he was appropriately anxious for how it was to be received. There was nearly another year until the movie hit cinemas, so it was still a long time coming, but he was nervous nonetheless. No matter how much Christopher Nolan and all his coworkers had assured him that his performance was great, he was still unsure of how it would really come across. It was his first real acting job after all. He just wanted it to be good.

She’d eventually fallen asleep, tucked up close to Harry’s side. They weren’t cuddling, per se, but they were definitely touching. And Harry must have done as she’d asked and left after she’d gone down, because she woke to an empty bed. However, there was a glass of water and two paracetamol tablets on her bedside table, with a little note that read:

‘Just in case you had a headache from the crying. —H.’

She was a little put off by the lack of X’s after his signature, but she wouldn’t ever admit that to anyone.

True to his prediction, Sia had a headache upon waking, so she quickly took the tablets and finished the entire glass of water before crawling out of bed. She was tired from the restless night of sleep and her body ached like she’d done a hard work out the day before. The relentless night terrors and her body’s violent, physical reaction during them were really wearing away at her body. She was surprised she didn’t find bruises or welts on her body every morning from how violently she knew she thrashed during them. Luckily, after she’d fallen asleep the second time, her sleep had been dreamless, and she was able to get the few hours uninterrupted. It wasn’t enough to make up for all the missed sleep the past week, but it help a bit.

Sia wished she felt better after Harry’s company in the early hours of the morning, but she felt just as downtrodden and worn as she had every other day. She was dreading their work day and having to see him after he witnessed the horror she lived through every night. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and it was indicative of the mental and emotional turmoil she knew he already suspected. She was sure at this point that Harry was starting to realise her upset wasn’t just from their break up. The time to tell him was creeping up on her, and she was dreading it.

Slipping into a pair of linen shorts and a plain tank top, Sia made her way into the kitchen. Luckily, it sounded like the house was mostly empty, or if it wasn’t empty, everyone was having a quiet Saturday morning. She made her way into the kitchen and only encountered Harry and Alex, the latter greeting her with a cheery “good morning,” which caused Harry to look over his shoulder at her from where he was standing in front of the stove. She smiled as best she could and returned Alex’s greeting with a soft one of her own.

Harry handed Sia a mug full of freshly brewed chai tea when she made her way to the fridge to grab some fruit for breakfast. He didn’t let go of it immediately when Sia got her hand on it, using it as a way to draw her closer to him.

“Yeh alright?” Harry murmured to her, not wanting Ben to really hear.

Sia couldn’t meet his eyes, so she nodded and hummed her agreement.

She heard Harry sigh, and she startled when she felt his lips press to her temple, lingering for a full three seconds before he pulled away. It was the first time they’d really had any physical contact outside of shoulders pressed against each other during movie nights and her leg pressed to his in bed the night before. She tried not to outwardly react to it.

Sia fled from the kitchen pretty quickly after that, foregoing the fruit she wanted to get and headed straight to the back patio. Mitch caught her eye from his place in one of the loungers when she walked out, and she could see him carefully appraising her bedraggled appearance. A slight frown titled at his lips and he mouthed, “you good?”

“Later,” she mouthed back when she saw Alex and Harry moving to join them outside. It was both a promise and a plea. She needed someone to talk to about this. Considering she was feeling like she’d pestered her therapist a lot recently, Mitch was her next best choice. He was the only other person on this trip that would be able to comfort her, in his sort of detached, awkward way. She’d call El, but the time difference was weird and hard to navigate. Mitch was here now, and she knew he was always willing to listen.

~*~*~*~*~

“So, are you just gonna avoid him for the rest of forever?” Mitch asked, looking very skeptical.

Him and Sia were sitting outside that cafe Sia had gone to when she was the only one in the house and had a day of exploring. She’d told him just after she’d had her morning tea that she wanted to talk to him at some point, and he’d suggested that they have lunch, just the two of them. So, when they were getting ready to leave, a driver waiting for them out front, Harry had walked into he living room at the same time, asking where they were going. Mitch, not wanting to leave his new friend out of an outing, went to invite him to lunch with them, but Sia had cut him off, telling Harry they were going out and would be back later, nearly pulling Mitch out the front door without waiting for a response.

He’d questioned her on their car ride and guessed correctly that she was avoiding Harry, for whatever reason. It wasn’t until they’d gotten seated at the cafe in town that she explained to him what had happened throughout the night.

“I obviously can’t do that,” Sia huffed with a roll of her eyes. She kept her gaze on her fingers twirling the straw in her glass of water. “I’m just embarrassed. And I know he’s suspicious.”

“You know I’ll never tell you what to do, but…” Mitch trailed off, taking a sip of his iced tea to fill the end of his sentence.

Sia sighed. “I know. I need to tell him. But the mere thought has me riddled with night terrors.”

“Maybe telling him will help ease them,” Mitch suggested.

“My therapist has mentioned that,” Sia admitted. “Something about me needing to push myself to get to the final steps of healing.”

“I never went to college, but she seems like a smart woman.”

Sia groaned as she ran her hands through her hair, a habit she’d picked up after years of being friends with Harry. “I just don’t want it to interfere with the recording.”

“The lingering tension between you is already interfering with the recording. Maybe this will help clear the air.”

Sia hummed to acknowledge that she heard Mitch’s opinion and she was grateful for it, but she was still having a bit of a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it was now imperative that she tell Harry about everything. It had been nearly a year since she’d begun dealing with it, and she was, for the most part, coping with it on her own. She thought she had been doing a good job until she’d been thrust back into Harry’s presence. And then when she finally thought she’d gotten a handle on those resurfaced emotions, a song set her off and brought back her nightmares. She felt like she couldn’t catch a break.

Perhaps finally sharing with Harry would help. Not to the point of recovery, but hopefully it would be the tipping of the domino that would finally set in motion the steps to finally dealing with it properly.

Healing. That was what Sia had to keep reminding herself of: telling Harry was an avenue of healing. Both for herself and for him. And possibly for them both as a past couple.

~*~*~*~*~

Sia, in order to prepare herself for an impending heavy conversation, successfully avoided Harry for the rest of the day.

When her and Mitch got back from lunch and their quick outing around town, she’d snuck into the kitchen to make herself a brew before promptly returning to her bedroom to brood and enjoy the rest of her day in peace. It had been pretty nice, just getting to watch a few films and text back and forth with Ellen. They were trying to pass ideas to each other about what they were going to do when El arrived in Jamaica, and it gave Sia a way to keep her mind off of the impending discussion she would have to have with Harry. It was a nice way to spend a day of her weekend.

She had another nightmare that night. It was becoming the norm more than an occasional occurrence, which was equally annoying as it was concerning.

Sia could feel her heart racing, even in the midst of the dream. She subconsciously knew she was crying, the sobbing in her dream too laboured heart-wrenching for it not to be reflected in her real life. Flashes of lights flickered in her hazy vision, like she was racing down a long hallway. The distant echo of the beeping of medical machines whooshed in and out of her hearing. A phantom pain of her experience ripped across her abdomen. The devastation of the news and her heartbreak settled deep into her chest.

He didn’t intentionally wake her this time, but she stirred out of her unconsciousness when Harry slid next to her in bed. She gasped when she felt like her arms were trapped around her, unable to reach up to wipe the tears from her face. She quickly realised that it was because Harry was laid on top of the covers, keeping them taut around her. It was actually comforting after she realised she wasn’t being physically held down, like she had been after she’d awoken in the hospital the year before. Harry had a hand on her back, softly stroking up and down as her breathing started to settle.

Harry didn’t speak until he felt that Sia had sufficiently calmed.

“You alright?”

Sia sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to shake off the last of her dream that clung to the edges of her consciousness. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Harry helped her loosen the blankets around her as she tried to shift to face him. He brushed her hair back from her face, that was still slightly sticky with the remnants of her tears and the sweat she had built up in her thrashing.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked. There was a softness in his features that relayed to Sia that he didn’t want to push her, which she greatly appreciated.

“What time is it?” she asked, unable to see the clock over Harry’s figure.

“Just past two.” Harry pressed his lips together to try to keep back the displeased look on his face. As far as he could tell, Sia was trying to avoid the topic again, and it didn’t it well with him. She very obviously had something that was eating away at her and needed to get it off her chest. He didn’t really understand why she was torturing herself by bottling it all up and keeping it away from him. Or anyone, really. He wasn’t privy to the fact that she had unloaded her burden on Mitch already. Not that it seemed to be helping.

“If you don’t mind staying up with me,” she told him, muttering into the cover of her blankets. She couldn’t actually believe that she was proposing they have this conversation now. But she sort of figured that the fact that he was here, in her room at two o’clock in the morning, had to be some sort of sign from some almighty being that wanted her to get her shit together. Divine intervention and all that.

“It’s Sunday and I’ve got no plans. If I want to sleep in until three in the afternoon, I will. If you need to talk, don’t worry about it.”

Sia looked at him for a long moment, giving herself one last chance to back out of this for the night. However, when she took inventory of how she was feeling, she realised that she didn’t want to take another raincheck. Her therapist was right: she needed to do this, not only for herself, but for him, too. It was time to take control of her own mental well-being.

She shuffled to get herself upright in bed. Harry helped her by pulling down the blankets to her waist and fluffing up her pillows to support her. Bless him and his constant attention to other’s needs and comfort. It made Sia’s heart give a little jump with affection and those damn butterflies in her stomach to flutter just a little harder. He made it really hard to not constantly be in love with him.

“Can you hand me the tissues?” she asked, gesturing to her bedside table. If Harry noticed the already-empty on beside it, he didn’t comment. He obviously already knew she’d done her share of crying in the last few days.

Sia gripped the square box in both hands, rubbing her thumbs over the sharp edges. She took a few moments to take in cleansing breaths, staring intently at the swirling patter of the interior of the duvet as it lay at her waist.

“I uh…” she began, clearing her throat when her voice came out with a slight hitch. “I’ve been dealing with some stuff lately that kinda resurfaced when I came on this trip.”

“I’ve noticed,” Harry commented softly.

Sia nodded. “I thought I had gotten past it, at least enough to function like a normal person, but it got bad within the last week or so.”

“I noticed you kinda dropped off after we first started recording ‘Woman.’” Harry paused to let Sia speak, but she only nodded, her eyes trained on the tissue she was now pulling apart between her fingers. “If the end of our relationship is still that awful for you, we don’t have to talk about it. I don’t want to make you—”

Sia shook her head hard, finally looking up at him. “It’s not that. I mean, not really, at least.”

Harry’s brows furrowed together. “Then what is it?”

“I had a miscarriage.”

Sia watched as Harry’s actually choked on his own breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His lower lip wobbled before he drew it between his teeth. He cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry. Do you mind me asking when?”

The first feeling of tears tingling behind her eyes made Sia squint them shut, wanting to keep it together as long as possible in order to get everything out. “December. Just before Christmas.”

A long silence drew out between them, both unsure what else to say. Harry seemed to be really struggling with what she’d told him, understandably. His jaw clenched and his hands were fisted into the hem of his athletic shorts. There was a deep furrow between his brows. He eventually squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, like he did when he was stressed. He sucked his lips into his mouth and rubbed them together a few times before blowing out a long breath. Eventually, he looked to Sia, a mixture of hurt and sadness mixed in his eyes.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Sia. I can’t imagine losing a baby.”

Sia’s heart thudded in her chest. Was he not getting it?

“Harry…” That uncomfortable feeling settling in her chest made it hard for her to talk. She was going to cry. There was no going back once that sensations filled her lungs. Tears dripped from the corners of each of her eyes, and she used the stripped bits in her fingers to sop up the first few drops before reaching for a full, new tissue.

She couldn’t really make out his face through the tears now swimming in her eyes. She felt her face crumple as a sob tore through her throat. Harry’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her to his chest, nearly crushing her. He was making shushing sounds to try to calm her. He could only hope that she could hear him over her sobs.

“You’re an i-idiot,” she eventually hiccuped out. Harry was drawn aback by her words, such a turn from the emotions she was displaying. He reared back and looked down at her. Sia scoffed at the exaggerated hurt look on his face.

“I know you’re hurting, but—”

“You’re an idiot, because I was pregnant with your baby.”

Sia heard Harry draw in a quick breath and the hold he had on her slackened. She took a moment to wipe her eyes before looking up at him. His mouth was open in surprise, and she’d never seen his forehead so scrunched or his brows so far down over his eyes.

Some unintelligible sounds came out of his mouth, like he was trying to form words and figure out what to say. Her stomach flipped a little when she saw tears welling in his eyes and slowly drip out. His mouth eventually closed over a small whimper that turned into a suppressed sob.

Sia gave him the time he needed. She’d had over half a year to come to terms with this, so she couldn’t expect Harry to do it in a few minutes. He’d have questions soon, so she would give him his time and be there when he was ready to talk.

Now that she’d gotten it out to him, she had an odd sense of serenity. Her natural care-taking nature seemed to overcome her, and all she wanted to do in that moment was make him comfortable. So, she told Harry softly that she would be back before slipping out of the bed and making her way to the kitchen. She made a brew for both Harry and herself and also popped a bag of popcorn. By the time she brought it back into the bedroom, Harry had tucked himself under the blankets, his eyes still steadily leaking tears, but his gaze was vacant, trained steadfastly on the far wall. If he even knew that Sia had entered the room, he made no indication.

Sia put the bowl of popcorn down on the bed and one of the cups on the bedside table.  She sidled up beside Harry, her knees gently resting against the side of the bed to keep her balance. With her free hand, she reached out and ran her fingers through Harry’s hair, trying to draw his attention gently. He eventually turned his head toward her, his eyes seeming to focus.

“I brought you a cuppa,” she murmured. Harry hummed and reached to take it by the handle. His other hand wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer. He took a deep breath and rested his head against her stomach, her fingers drawing slowly through his hair. It was only a few moments before she could feel the wetness seep through her sleep shirt. He was actively crying again.

“Budge over,” she whispered.

Harry sniffled before righting himself and making room for her. She slid into bed beside him.

“Talk to me,” she urged.

Harry took a slow sip of his tea before speaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sia took a deep breath. “I didn’t know I was pregnant until December. And then, three days later, I started bleeding.”

“How did you not—?”

“We’d just broken up, Harry. I was distraught. I was in the midst of my internship. I was doing everything in my power to keep my mind off of you. And I didn’t realise until nearly Christmas that I hadn’t had a period in…longer than I could remember.

“When I finally figured it out, I went and took like three tests. All of ‘em came back positive. Given the last time we had sex, I reckoned I was about fourteen or fifteen weeks. I’d gained a little weight, but nothing I really noticed. Figured I’d make an appointment for just after Christmas, start takin’ vitamins. Figured I’d made it that long, another two weeks wasn’t gonna make a difference.”

Sia paused to take a shaky sip of her tea. This was her least favourite part of this memory.

She cleared her throat. “I went to my parents’ as soon as I was allowed. I was gonna tell them that night at dinner. Except I started bleeding before then. I lost blood so fast that I passed out…. My mum found me in the loo. She called 999 and I was rushed to the hospital. I guess I was able to tell them I was pregnant at some point, because I was sedated. All I remember was lights flashing as I was wheeled to the OR and this awful pain in my stomach and then waking up eight hours later.

“I’d had a placental abruption. The doctors were surprised I’d made it as far along as I had. I was gonna call you as soon as I weaned myself off the meds. Then that shit in St. Barts came out and I…I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t deal with a miscarriage and your bullshit at the same time.”

“It’s been months since, then, though,” Harry argued, staring down into his tea. “You could’ve told me. Should’ve told me. I deserved to know. That was my baby, too.”

“I know. I hate myself for not telling you. I started seeing a therapist in January. I was pretty messed up for awhile. It wasn’t until I moved to America that it started to get a little better.”

“That’s what your nightmares are from, then?” Harry finally looked at her. She was glad to see he wasn’t angry. She was always afraid that he’d hate her for not telling him sooner. He was obviously upset, but she figured he knew there was a bigger picture.

Sia nodded. “Yeah. Once I left the hospital, I started havin’ them.” Sia paused, taking a moment to catch her breath. All that happened was her throat tightening with a fresh rush of tears. “I’d only known I was pregnant for a few days, but I already loved that baby so much. Losing the pregnancy wrecked me.”

“How far along were you?”

“Doctors said about seventeen weeks,” Sia sighed. “It was a boy.”

Harry let his head drop back against the headboard. His face crumpled and new tears streamed down his cheeks. “We’d have a little boy right now.”

Sia mirrored his posture after putting her tea on the little table. She cleared her throat. “Yeah. He’d be about four months old now.”

Harry sniffled and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “Did you name him?”

Her heart thudded in her chest and her skin flushed. She wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed by the name she’d given her unborn son, but she didn’t think she’d admit it to anyone. Only her parents knew his name. She hadn’t even told Ellen. The hospital had asked her if she wanted to name him and she hadn’t hesitated. He wouldn’t have an official death certificate, considering he hadn’t been far enough along in gestation to be considered a person, but it was something the nurses were going to do for her, just to honour him. She hadn’t hesitated in telling them the name she wanted in her records. It was the same name that was etched into the front panel of the wood urn she’d put his ashes in. The same urn that was sat on her dresser at home.

“Harry. I named him Harry.”

[chrome-mind]

Angel Wings

Summary: Not everyone wants to go along with Angel’s plan. Note everyone wants to lose a friend.

Warning(s): Character Death

“Hey Angel, you listening in? Angel?”

“Yes… sorry.”

“Nah, just wanted to talk to you anyways.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

    You shifted the Jakobs sniper rifle in your arms uneasily. Something was wrong. The sick sense of dread was creeping in as you finally neared the Core with the other Vault Hunters. The BNK3R had been an unexpected surprise, but even after it’s destruction it caused you worry. Jack was putting a lot of effort into defending this place. Sure the Vault Key was there, but if his ever increasingly hostile ECHOs were anything to go by, this was something more personal. He was getting desperate.

“Hey Angel, why are you helping me- well, us.”

“Pandora needs your help, it needs a hero like you.”

    “Angel… what exactly is in here besides the vault key?” you asked hesitantly. “Me.” the response was instantaneous, but not enlightening. “Alright, but why are you in here?” your expression turned worrisome “What are you doing in there?” One of the other Vault Hunters moved forward towards the voice recognition, the weird alien looking one, waiting for Angel’s instructions.

“The password is: I love you.”

“What’s life like for you? There’s no way you could actually be an AI.”

“You… catch on very quick.”

“Do you live on Pandora?”

“Not exactly.”

“Helios, then?”

“It’s rather complicated.”

    With the voice modulator, the door was soon open. You were the first to enter, peering warily over your now raised gun “Angel?”

“Consider this your final warn-- no, consider this MY final warning. Turn around and I promise I'll make it quick. But I swear, you take one more step, every soul back in Sanctuary will die staring at their own lungs as I rip them from their chests.” Handsome Jack threatened viciously, all previous signs of arrogance wiped away.

“Hey Angel?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Jack acquired his Siren catalyst a long time ago. He kept her hidden from the world for years, but finally -- you will be able to set her free.” Angel continued speaking as if he didn’t exist at all. “Eridium alone could never charge the Vault Key. It needs a catalyst -- something to awaken its power. It needs... a Siren.” the elevator you had stepped into, which you would embarrassingly admit you did not notice was an elevator, let alone that it had begun moving, was starting to slow down.

“What are we doing here Angel?” your voice was starting to sound more forceful, your anxiousness getting the better of you. She seemed intent on ignoring your questions “I detect you're getting close. Hurry and reach me -- you must get the Vault Key and... deal with me.” “Angel.” The elevator stopped.

“Executing phase shift.” she spoke again “The Key is here, but…” the sense of dread you had was resurfacing the more she spoke. The ECHO she had been using since the first time she had spoken was fading as you and the Vault Hunters got closer. “To truly stop Jack from waking the Warrior, you cannot just steal the Vault Key -- you must destroy his catalyst.”

“You must destroy…”

The girl who has only been a repetitive video feed of a face on your ECHO, whose been the voice in your ear since the beginning of this mess, appeared. You looked over her form warily, it looked worn down. Hopeless. “...me.”

“What. I did not do all of this just to kill you!” you burst out angrily. From the corner of your vision you saw the other Vault Hunters shift. You did not know if it was from discomfort or if they were preparing for a fight. Sad blue eyes stared at you “Jack's spent years pumping me full of Eridium, using me to charge his Key and manipulate his enemies.” you couldn’t tell if she was trying to make it seem like it would be worth it to do this, but all you could do was sit in your frustration as she spoke. “Destroying the Eridium injectors that keep me... alive... will stop the Key from charging. And it will end a lifetime of servitude. Now--” She was suddenly yanked back, away from you and the others.

“You get the hell away from MY DAUGHTER!” Jack yelled angrily, even as Angel screamed. You rushed forwards immediately to follow after her, not even waiting for the rest “What the hell are you doing?! ANGEL?!” He seethed, still out of view. You finally set eyes on the Core itself, the machine that was holding Angel in place. The Vault Key. “What the hell is this?” you said aloud, horrified. “Stopping you, you piece of--” Angel cuts herself off, though Jack responds anyway. “Rrgh -- language!”

“The Eridium injectors! Destroy them!” Angel shouted. The siren Vault Hunter was quick to raise her gun and aim at the injectors. “No!” You shouted, slapping the gun in her hands away from the injectors. This gave Jack the chance to raise shields over the mechanisms. “What are you doing?!” Angel looks at you desperately, hands raised but not touching the barrier around her. “You can’t be serious!” You’re sure Jack is watching your every move now “How is this the only way?!” “I’m-” “You were put in that machine, don’t you dare tell me you can’t be taken out!”

Angel looks so sad now, but it looks odd. No. Not sadness. Pity. The other Vault Hunters are wearing the same expression as they watched you, gun raised. “I’m sorry.” she speaks softly “There isn’t.”

You realize her odd pity was also bitter. She wanted to live, but knew she couldn’t. You let out an agonized laugh. “We’ve been through a lot of shit that we didn’t expect to live through, this isn’t much different.” Even as you talked, your gaze flicked all over the room for something, anything.

“I’m sorry soldier.” Roland said through the ECHO.

“No you’re not,” you spat harshly “You’ve been ready to do this since the beginning.” “Look, kid, we can’t let you risk everything for one person.” Lilith decided to put out unkindly. You threw your ECHO comm on the ground, cracking it against the hard floor.

“You, Vault Hunter.” Handsome Jack spoke up. Everyone in the room turned to face at least one of the screens. He pointed at you, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. “If you protect my baby girl- if you let her live, I’ll pay you more than anyone could give you on Pandora.” he said seriously, almost desperately. You sneered at him after only a moment of silence “I’m not doing shit for you. She’s not dying, but she sure as hell isn’t staying here.” The CEO’s features darkened and you could see Angel’s pained expressions from the side of your vision. The first wave of loaderbots began materializing in The Core.

You lifted your gun to aim at whoever attacked first, the loaderbots or the Vault Hunters.

A sudden blow to the back of the head made you stagger and drop. You instinctively turned your body over to face whatever had hit you, your eyes met the blank mask of the assassin. On the ground, your ECHO still crackled, Lilith's voice filtering through. “Sorry kid, we can’t let you screw this up.”

Your ears rang and you let your head drop onto the ground with gritted teeth. Consciousness wavered for who knows how long, the sounds of guns firing and going off reaching your ears at random intervals. You were sure that the loaderbots had stepped over you a couple of times. In a moment of clarity, you gripped the gun that still lay in your hands, somehow never being knocked out of your grasp while you were incapacitated. You shakily raised the gun towards a panel on the side of one of the Hyperion made constructors. With a deep breath, your arm steadied and your finger pulled the trigger.

The shot almost missed, nicking the panel only just enough to do what you wanted. The constructor began materializing more loaderbots, faster than it should have now that the regulator had been damaged. Loaderbots seemed to stream from the constructor now. You did not get the chance to see if they had overpowered the other Vault Hunters as your awareness finally failed you.

-

When you awoke, it was silent. You were afraid to open your eyes. When you did, you wished you had kept them closed and just lied there for eternity. The sparking and scattered pieces of loaderbots littered the room, the gun arm of one of them had fallen on you sometime after its destruction. Picking yourself up with shaky limbs, you scanned what was left of the room.

Angel’s body laid limpy against what used to be The Core, Eridium pools surrounding the structure. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

These thoughts plagued you as you stared at the broken figure of what used to be Handsome Jack. He was still alive, but barely. The Vault Hunters had left him to bleed out, or get eaten by one of Pandora’s wildlife. Whichever came first. All you had to do to retrace the other Vault Hunters steps was follow the trail of dead bodies. The corpse of The Warrior lay half submerged in the lava.

“You could have let her go. You should have let her go.” there was no emotion in your voice as you sat in front of the man, hands resting on your knees.The former CEO simply stared at you bitterly. His mask had been taken by the Vault Hunters, the mark of the vault in plain sight. He remained silent, even as he bled to death only feet away from an Anshin hypo. You stayed there until the Rakk’s began to circle overhead.

[pomegranate-ink]

Creative Writing (09/19/2020)

Ideas:

Coffee shop AU.

Hurt/comfort.

Defenestration.

Triggers:

Abuse.

Violence.

The Coffee Shop

Tears cloud my vision as I run down the empty street, coat pulled close as the rain pelts into me. It feel as if shards of ice are piercing my skin. I hardly notice, the arching of my heart more intense than the painful numbness of the cold. I feel my heart hammering in my chest. Where am I going? Not home; I can’t bare to face him. I shouldn’t have left, I should have just taken the verbal and physical battering. I’ve handled his harsh words and touches before. Still, this time felt …different. I’ve never seen him so angry before. I had barely stepped into the apartment before his hand met my cheek, his barrage of insults beginning. He stunk of alcohol. A bad day at work, perhaps? Coming home late from work had just added fuel to the flame. His words still echo in my ears, clear and sharp. Terrifying. “You whore! You were out with some other man, weren’t you? Don’t you lie to me!” I had panicked when he didn’t stop after a few hits. Before I could think it through, I had smashed a vase over his head. Oh god, he’s going to be so angry.

My running slowly turns into a slow creep, each step making my feet feel as though anvils are chained to my ankles. My hair and clothes are soaked through. No one is out on such a rainy night. It’s so late that most of the small shops and restaurants have closed, the only light coming from the street lamps that bathe the roads in orange light and a small building across the street. My eyes go to it, curious. What could be open so late? I walk over, the large words painted on the windows becoming clearer as I do. Merrill’s Coffee & Pastries, it reads. Without thinking, I open the door and step inside, drawn to the warmth radiating from the inside like a moth to a porch light. The interior looks like your stereotypical Hallmark movie. The floor and counters are the color of warm honey, the walls a light tan. A few tables and chairs are scattered throughout the room, large velvet couches lining the back wall. There is no one in sight; the workers were probably relaxing in the back room. After all, who would be coming in for coffee at 10:00 at night?

I make my way to a table in the back corner; the one farthest from the door. I sit with my back to the counter, hoping that if a worker immerses they will take the hint and leave me alone. The smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries would be pleasant under normal circumstances. The hunger that had been gnawing at my stomach when I got off shift is long gone now, replaced by this horrific sense of dread. I shiver as my wet clothes cling to my icy skin, the warmth of the shop slowly easing the numbness away. As the feeling returns, the pain does as well. My hand goes to my cheek, touching the large bruise that has already begun to form. It is likely already turning an ugly blue; makeup won’t cover this one up. Small bruises, the exact size of his fingers, litter my arms. The tears I have been so desperately pushing back resurface, spilling down my cheeks as I choke back a sob. My hand goes over my mouth, trying to silence my whimpers as I sink down, burrowing my face into my arms. It all comes crashing over me like a tidal wave, too much to bare.

Somewhere behind me I hear a groan of disappointment, accompanied by unintelligible muttering. I barely notice it, my head remaining pressed into my arms. The sound of footsteps make me tense; they are load and heavy. Just like his. “Hey, can I get you something-” My head snaps up, eyes widening with fear. My gaze lands on a man a few steps behind me; it’s not him. This man is tall and massive, looking more like a pro-wrestler than someone who would be working at a coffee shop. He’s bald, tattoos covering his muscled arms. A black bear covers his squared jawline. His eyes widen as well, flicking up and down as he takes me in. I must look like I’ve been hit by a bus; in a way I have. “Are you okay, ma’am?” His voice is deep, resembling rolling thunder. It, like his presence, commands attention. I sniffle, wiping my tear-soaked cheeks and nodding. I force a small smile onto my face; I’m sure it looks as fake as it feels. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” The man reaches forward, towards my face, and I involuntarily flinch. His hand pulls back as he pauses for a moment.

“You sure don’t look fine. Did you get mugged?” I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself in an attempt to calm my nerves. It doesn’t help. “I just fell down some stairs. It was slippery and I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I mumble. My eyes focus on the wall, the floor, the coffee maker. Anything but the man standing in front of me. I hear him let out a low sigh and hear the rustling of clothes moving. Before I can look up, he’s placed his large jacket around my shoulders. It’s so large I nearly disappear inside of it. “Well, be more careful. Someone might think you got beat up.” There is a knowing tone to his voice. It’s clear my lie didn’t do the trick. “Can I get you something? A scone? A cappuccino?” I shake my head again. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.” The man shrugs. “It’s on the house. Think of it as a thank you.” My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Thank you? Thank you for what?” A small smile tugs at his lips. “Keeping me company. It gets lonely working the late shift, you know? I’m Joseph, by the way.” I feel a smile of my own beginning to form. “Clara. It’s nice to meet you, Joseph.”

I don’t know how long we sit and talk. No one else comes in; by now it’s past midnight. The shop should have closed over an hour ago. Joseph doesn’t seem to care. He sits across from me, tending to my injuries as he chatters on endlessly. He talks about his childhood, going into elaborate stories about baking with his mother and going on adventures with his brothers. He grew up in Montana; a far cry from the sprawling city he now finds himself in. He moved here three years ago after his mother died hoping to start a bakery. Things didn’t quite go as planned, to say the least. I don’t mind letting him take the lead in the conversation department. I hardly have any stories that are worth sharing. He’s in the middle of another wonderful story when I hear the bell ring, signalling that another has entered the shop. I look up, heart plummeting. He’s standing there, soaked to the bone and red with anger. A bandage is sloppily wrapped around his forehead, blood soaking the material. “There you are.” He growls, stalking towards me. I fumble over my words, not sure what to say, just that the pain is about to return.

Joseph is on his feet before I can form a response. He positions himself in front of me, blocking my view. “Who are you?” He asks, eyes narrowed. His arms are folded across his massive chest. “I happen to be her husband. Get out of my way, I’m taking her home.” Joseph snorts, shaking his head. “I don’t think the lady wants to do with you, mister.” He looks back at me for confirmation. “Am I right?” I hesitate before mustering up a nod, an anxious lump forming in my throat. “See? Now, I think it’s time you leave.” Joseph takes a step forward, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. “I don’t give a shit what she wants! She’s my wife and I’m taking her with me!” He tries to force his way past, Joseph’s large frame easily blocking the way. “I’m warning you, leave.” He growls. I hear the familiar sound of a fist hitting a jaw and Joseph stumbles back, hand shooting to his face in pain. His brown eyes fill with anger. Before I can blink, the sound of glass shattering fills my ears. It’s just me and Joseph again, cold air hitting us through the newly broken window. The rusty smell of blood wafts in from outside accompanied by the cold breeze. I don’t look, instead burrowing my face into Joseph’s chest as the tears return.